A Child's Love
by redcandle
Summary: Growing up Arya thinks Jon is the only male she'd ever want to marry.


Arya wished Sansa and Jeyne would talk about something else. She didn't mind talk of gallant knights; she was quite fond of hearing which knight had defeated another knight by tricking him into dismounting and bashing him over the head senseless, or which knight had been more noble than skilled and tragically ended up with his head on a spike decorating his enemy's castle walls. The problem was that when Sansa and Jeyne talked about knights, they inevitably ended up discussing which knight they were going to marry when they grew up and that was so _boring_. "Who are you going to marry, Arya?" Jeyne asked. "I'm not going to marry anyone," Arya replied. Her sister Sansa shook her head and smiled in a way that made Arya want to punch her, but the last time she'd done that Mother and Father had been very angry at her. So Arya settled for saying, loudly, "Well, I _won't_!" "All girls get married, Arya, unless they become a septa instead," Sansa said, like she knew so much just because she was two years older than Arya. Arya glanced across the room to Septa Mordane and decided that maybe getting married wasn't so bad if the alternative was to be a horrid old woman who only cared about needlework and courtesy and never did anything fun. But who would she marry? Father was the best man she knew, but he was already married to Mother. Of course. She'd marry _Jon_! "I'm going to marry Jon," she announced. "You can't marry Jon," Sansa said. "He's a bastard, and besides he's our half-brother. Only the Targaryens married their brothers, Maester Luwin said so." Arya didn't care about any of that. "I can too marry Jon and I will!"

Jon was nearly a man grown, just turned eleven, and he and Robb got to accompany Father when Father went to do justice. Arya begged and begged to go with them, but Father just said that it wasn't a fit sight for a little girl. Arya wasn't so little; she was _six_! Lord Eddard just laughed and picked her up and cuddled her and said she _was_ little, and Robb only reassured her that Father might let her go when she was older. Jon understood though. He didn't laugh at her or tell her she was too little. He ruffled her hair and whispered that he'd tell her everything that happened when he came back. And he kept his promise. When Winterfell's men returned a fortnight later, after their welcoming dinner that was a feast in all but name, when the Stark children had been put to bed, Arya laid awake. Jon had _promised_, and so she was awake and waiting when he crept into her bed chamber. He climbed onto her bed and hugged her. "It wasn't grand," he said. "He was a peasant accused of violating and murdering his neighbor's wife, and he admitted as much, so Father was right to chop his head off. But the way he cried and begged...and the way his neck gushed blood after his head flew off and rolled down the hill...It was awful, Arya." Arya couldn't really understand it; she was too young and too sheltered from the world's horrors. It didn't sound awful to her; the accused had been a bad man and Father had done justice by punishing him for his crimes. "It was right," she said fiercely. "Aye," Jon agreed, "But it was still terrible." He wasn't making sense and Arya didn't like to see him sad. So she tickled him and after a helpless moment of laughter, he tickled her back and so began their tickle battle.

Mother wasn't feeling well. The babe in her belly was kicking her a lot. Arya immediately disliked this new babe; how dare he hurt Mother. "You're bad," she said to him chidingly, wagging her finger at her lady mother's swollen belly. Mother laughed, and pulled Arya close for a snuggle. "He doesn't mean to, Arya. No more than you mean to, my sweet." Arya was horrified. "I didn't hurt you, Mother!" she protested, "I would never." "Of course you didn't mean to, my little wolfling. But you were certainly strong and eager to be here with us." Mother kissed her forehead. "You were the most active of my babes and the one who wailed the loudest when you were born." Arya didn't think that sounded entirely bad. Was Mother saying she was a better babe than Robb, who was the oldest and the heir, and Bran, who was a boy even if he was littler than her? "I love you," she told her lady mother. "I love you too, Arya," Lady Catelyn said, and she kissed Arya again. Later that night, after she'd bragged to Jon about how much the new baby kicked - though not as much as she had - and he admitted he hadn't felt the babe kick, Arya was determined to have Jon feel the new babe's kicking for himself. "Arya," he said quietly, "Your lady mother doesn't like me." Arya knew Jon wasn't Lady Catelyn's child as she was, but Jon was her brother and the babe was his brother too. "She'll let you touch him if I ask her," she told him. And sure enough, while her mother's beautiful face wore a look of distress rather than the smile she'd have had for Arya if she was alone, Lady Catelyn allowed Jon Snow to place his hand upon her belly. Arya knew he'd felt something when he gasped. He withdraw his hand, and then placed it flat against Lady Catelyn's belly again. "I feel him," he whispered, awed. "He's due any day now," Lady Catelyn said, "The third trueborn son of Stark." Jon reacted as if she'd said something bad and drew away from her. "Thank you, my lady," he said, bowing stiffly. He hurried from the chamber. Arya crawled onto the huge bed and hugged her mother and then her mother's bulging belly. "I love you, Mother. I love you, little babe." And after her mother had kissed her and assured her of her love, Arya ran in search of Jon. "I love you, Jon."

Jeyne Poole had kissed a milkmaid's son just to see what it was like, and Sansa latched onto Jeyne's story like she'd actually been kissed herself, and Arya was left as the only one who hadn't experienced a kiss yet. Well, little Beth Cassel hadn't either, but she was only a baby so it was okay for her. "Jon?" Arya asked her brother one afternoon as she hid from Septa Mordane and he tended to his practice weapons. "What's a kiss like? Jon hesitated, his hand pausing halfway up his practice sword. "I don't know, Arya." She twisted around to look at him. "You mean you haven't?" His cheeks reddened, as if he was embarrassed. "No, I haven't." She ought to make fun of him; after all, he was almost a man grown. Yet she was pleased to think that no one's lips had ever touched his. He was her Jon, and she was glad no other female had sought to claim him. Arya leaned in close and, pursing her lips, pressed them to Jon's lips. Jon gasped and reared back. Arya opened her eyes and surveyed his shocked look with satisfaction. No matter what, he was her Jon.

"Are you going to miss me?" Arya bit her lip. "More than anything," Jon assured her solemnly. Arya was going to King's Landing with Father while Jon was going to take the black at the Wall with Uncle Benjen. She wished they were going to the same place. But at least they were both going to have exciting adventures. "You have to write me and tell me everything that happens here, or else I'm going to come and pinch you," she said fiercely. Jon laughed. "Of course, Arya. Every snark and grumpkin that comes through...I'll be sure to let you know."

It's been years since she left Winterfell and she's a woman grown now. Her mother and her father are dead, as are Bran and baby Rickon and Robb, and it's better Sansa be dead than the stories she hears be true, but Jon's story hurts her heart the most. He can't be the dead puppet of a sorceress, he can't! Arya is a continent away, but at the arrival of this latest news, she retrieves Needle and books passage on a ship.


End file.
